Chateau and Country Life in France eBook

CAP GRIS NEZ.

We made a lovely excursion one day to Cap Gris Nez—­just
at the end of a wild bit of coast about twenty-five
kilometres from Boulogne. The road was enchanting
on the top of the cliff all along the sea. We
passed through Vimereux, a small bathing-place four
or five miles from Boulogne, and one or two other
villages, then went through a wild desolate tract
of sand-hills and plains and came upon the lighthouse,
one of the most important of the coast—­a
very powerful light that all inward-bound boats are
delighted to see. There are one or two villas
near on the top of the cliff, then the road turns sharply
down to the beach—­a beautiful broad expanse
of yellow sand, reaching very far out that day as
it was dead low tide.

In the distance we saw figures; couldn’t distinguish
what they were doing, but supposed they were fishing
for shrimps, which was what our party meant to do.
The auto was filled with nets, baskets, and clothes,
as well as luncheon baskets. The hotel—­a
very good, simple one—­with a broad piazza
going all around it, was half-way down the cliff, and
the woman was very “complaisante” and
helpful—­said there were plenty of shrimps,
crabs, and lobsters and no one to fish. She and
her husband had been out at four o’clock that
morning and had brought back “quatre pintes”
of shrimps. No one knew what she meant, but it
was evidently a measure of some kind. I suppose
an English pint. She gave us a cabin where the
two young matrons dressed, or rather undressed, as
they reappeared in their bathing trousers—­which
stopped some little distance above the knee—­very
short skirts, bare legs, “espadrilles”
on their feet, and large Panama hats to protect them
from the sun. The men had merely rolled up their
trousers. They went out very far—­I
could just make them out—­they seemed a
part of the sea and sky, moving objects standing out
against the horizon.

I made myself very comfortable with rugs and cushions
under the cliff—­I had my book as I knew
it would be a long operation. It was enchanting—­sitting
there, such a beautiful afternoon. We saw the
English coast quite distinctly. There was not
a sound—­no bathing cabins or tents, nobody
on the shore, but a few fishermen were spreading nets
on poles to catch the fish as the tide came up.
The sea was quite blue, and as the afternoon lengthened
there were lovely soft lights over everything; such
warm tints it might almost have been the Mediterranean
and the Riviera. A few fishing-boats passed in
the distance, but there was nothing to break the great
stillness—­not even the ripple of the waves,
as the sea was too far out. It was a curious sensation
to be sitting there quite alone—­the blue
sea at my feet and the cliff rising straight up behind
me.